Dirty (Unexpected Lovers #3) - J.B. Heller Page 0,43
wiping her damp eyes. “That was just the baby saying hi.”
“Well, the little sucker successfully distracted me from my pity party.” I chuckle. “That’s some creepy shit, Emmy.”
She shrugs. “Meh. You get used to it eventually, then it’s kinda cool.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I tell her, eyeing her belly as it shifts and moves beneath her tight tank, shuddering at the sight.
Kins appears at Em’s side, back in her regular street clothes. Her gaze narrows, flicking between Em and me. “What’s going on over here?” she asks.
I smile. It’s fake as shit, and she knows it.
“Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about,” I say. “You ready to go?”
“Sure,” she murmurs, still eyeing me suspiciously.
“Come on.” I link our arms together and tug her toward the door. “Let’s go get you mocktailed.”
Kins looks back over her shoulder at Em then says, “You’d tell me if something was up with you, right?”
I pause, meeting her wary stare, and shake my head. “No, babe, I wouldn’t. Maybe after the wedding and honeymoon, but not right now. Just trust me when I say I’ll be okay.” I keep our gazes locked, letting her see the truth in my words.
I may not be okay yet, but I will be. Of that I have no doubt. Rolling solo was always my preferred way of life, and it will be again.
One day.
DAY OF THE WEDDING . . .
A knock at my hotel room door has me frowning into my whiskey. The knock sounds again, and I drag my ass out of the armchair in the corner of the room. I don’t bother looking through the peephole. Bates is the only one who knows I’m staying here.
Swinging the door open, I quirk a brow. He’s looking all dapper and shit in a tailored suit. His diamond stud twinkles in his ear, and his brow bar is in, too. “You didn’t have to get all dressed up just for me.” I smirk then drain the last of the amber liquid from the tumbler in my hand, leaning against the doorframe.
He arches a brow. “You drunk?”
I scoff. “Uh, nooo.”
“Walk in a straight line for me, then,” he says, jutting his chin inside my room.
“I could if I wanted to,” I retort, staying right where I am.
“Aha,” he mutters, then out of fucking nowhere, he shoves me.
I stumble, losing my already precarious balance, and fall flat on my ass.
“That’s what I thought,” he grumbles, stepping inside and closing the door behind him.
I roll to my feet, a wave of dizziness rocking through me as I do. My hand shoots out, steadying myself on the wall. “What was that for, asshole?”
“Get your ass in a cold shower—we got places to be,” he says, tossing a garment bag on the end of my bed.
“What’s in the bag?” I ask, choosing to ignore his shower comment.
He turns to face me, hands on his hips as he shakes his head. “Pathetic,” he mutters. Then he heaves a sigh, removes his suit jacket, carefully lays it over the back of the armchair, and begins rolling the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt as he steps toward me. “Are you going to get in the shower, or am I going to put you in there myself?”
“What are you even doing here, man?”
“Right, so I’m doing it for you,” he says, entering my personal space.
I shove him. “Fuck you. What the hell’s going on right now?”
My shove was pitiful at best, and he steps right into me, dropping a shoulder into my stomach and heaving my body in the air in a fireman hold as he strides for the bathroom.
“Bates, put me the fuck down,” I groan, nausea roiling in my gut.
He drops me—completely clothed—into the tub then turns the cold faucet on full blast. The shock of the freezing spray has my nausea running for the hills and shivers wracking through my body. “Wh-at the fu-ck?” I sputter through chattering teeth.
Bates leans against the vanity, crossing his ankles then his arms over his chest as he glares at me. “I’m done with this shit. You and Lennon are doin’ my head in. So, you’re going to sober your drunk ass up, put on that suit I brought you”—he points toward the garment bag back in the room—“and you two are going to kiss and make up.”
I snort. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen.”
His passive expression morphs into a borderline psychotic glare. “Yes, Arch, it fucking is. Now get up, wash off, and